The Road to Hell Is Paved with Good Intentions
by Littlepwny
Summary: Days after the recall, Overwatch receives a distress signal from Jack Morrison. Among the carnage, they find an unconscious blacktops operative of the European Army next to their Strike Commander's distress beacon. "A worthy recruit—Soldier: 76," the distress signal states. [Mercy/OMC]
1. Chapter 1: Ambush!

**Chapter 1: Ambush!**

Soldier 76 jumped from his sleep when he felt movement in his room. As he went to grab the pulse rifle at his side or the knife under his pillow, 76 felt rough hands holding him down from both sides.

"At ease, Soldier," a man in a vaguely familiar husky, English voice commanded.

That was exactly what he did, not out of fear or obedience to his assailants but in order to assess the combat situation before murdering them.

There were three men in the room, two were holding him down while the one talking was sitting on the armchair with one leg thrown over the armrest. They all wore urban camouflaged uniforms with metal components for superior protection and helmets that covered their entire faces. No insignias or flag patches were evident on their uniform.

Their commander had painted a ridiculous looking white skull on his helmet's visor. His right hand had been removed from the shoulder and replaced with a mechanical hand; if the mutilation was voluntary or accidental, 76 could not tell. Unlike his two comrades that used custom assault rifles, he had a shotgun on his lap, a submachinegun strapped across his chest, and some kind of anti-material rifle that looked capable of breaking the arm of a man firing it.

"Who are you?"

"Members of the European Army black ops division," the man replied.

 _Good_ , he thought. The last thing he needed was to be captured by the Talon group that had been hunting him for years.

"And you?"

He chuckled. "Tell me your name—your real name—and I will tell you mine."

Soldier 76 growled at his taunt. "Soldier 76."

"I am Ghost then."

Soldier 76 returned to assessing his surrounding, searching for some possible way to fight off his assailants. Even if he could fight off the two soldiers holding him, he doubted that Ghost would not kill him promptly.

"I am not here to kill you or bring you to justice," Ghost continued, "we have been informed that Overwatch has been issued a recall. I expect you to issue Jack Morrison's recall and reveal to me the location of their headquarters."

Watchpoint Gibraltar, Soldier 76 thought. It was an Overwatch base that had been abandoned for years but it was the ideal location. It was also quite an inconspicuous location considering the facility held a massive underground complex that the United Nations had no clue about.

Part of him wondered whom had been stupid enough to issue the recall. Reinhardt and Angela were technically the highest ranking officers alive but it could not be them; Reinhardt was too honourable and proud to create a rogue organisation while his Angel was not stupid enough to issue a recall. Winston! That was it. That ridiculous monkey was the only one that had mistaken their vainglorious organisation for something it was not.

"You are wasting your time, kiddo."

Ghost chuckled again. He reached for his gun and turned off the safety. "Torture it is then."

Soldier 76 started searching for an ingenious plan that could save him from his predicament but his freedom was given to him freely. Sniper rifle fire cracked in the distance, followed by the two soldiers holding him dropping dead.

A heartbeat later, the door was breached open and shadowy figures tried to enter inside. Ghost immediately confronted them and started shouting them with his semi-automatic shotgun.

76 jumped off the bed and away from the window, he reached from his pulse rifle.

"Don't!" Ghost snapped and aimed his SMG towards him while aiming his shotgun down the hallway.

"They are Talon, you fool!"

Immediately, Ghost holstered his SMG and grabbed his shotgun with both hands. "You will assist me, sir. But one or both of us will dead by the end of the night."

Soldier 76 grabbed his pistol and rushed past Ghost. The enemy started shooting him but—unlike their high tech armour—they had the skills of a redshirt, no aim and no knowledge of combat tactics.

He was walking down the hallway, his weapon firing only when one of them tried to look towards him. When he saw a tin can on the floor, he kicked it towards the group of talon hiding the corner of the walls. "Grenade!" he yelled.

Night as it was, the idiots took the bait and dived away from the would-be grenade. Soldier 76 grunted and sprinted toward them, shooting them promptly before they could recover.

"Nicely done," Ghost said from behind.

As Soldier 76 looked towards the European soldier. As the man had his weapon lowered, it would have been so easy to incapacitate or shoot him but… Soldier 76 did not murder innocents.

"We can access the sewers from the basement, it will be easier to escape their sniper from there," said Soldier 76.

"Are you certain? The building's blueprints—"

Perhaps it was a soldier's instinct alone that helped him react at the odd glint in the distance. He grabbed Ghost and hoisted both of them down the stairs. The crack of sniper fire echoed a heartbeat later. "Move! Now!"

* * *

To say that Markus Wilhelm was pissed would have been the understatement of the century, not only had his two comrades died by that Widowmaker bitch, the dastard Jack Morrison had also saved his life.

And now here he was, having difficulty catching up with Morrison as they run down the winding staircase of the abandoned building. Part of him was tempted to abandon the overweight Black Widow but he could not, he loved that sniper rifle.

Markus reached on his belt and grabbed a proximity bomb, he placed it under the railings of the staircase and kept running. Although he doubted the mysterious Widowmaker would trigger it, he was certain that one of the talon operatives would fall to his trap.

Submachinegun fire started pelleting them from above. Morrison shot a single helix rocket towards the upper floor while Markus dropped a smoke grenade on the ground and blind fired with his silenced M7S SMG. While nobody seemed to die from the hits, it had certainly scared the soldiers chasing after them from above. Screams were heard from above as the proximity bomb exploded, sending two soldiers down the empty space in the middle.

As they reached the bottom floor, Morrison slammed the locked door with his shoulder.

When he entered the basement, Markus closed the door and latched an axe under the door. It was nothing fancy but it would buy them a few second. As he looked around the room, he frowned. "I told you there is absolutely nothing—"

Morrison tapped the floor twice at the middle of the room.

"Ah," Markus replied. He grabbed the EA-RDX and knelt at the spot the old soldier had pointed to. As he was assembling the explosive, he continued, "You are quite fast… for an old man."

Morrison did not respond. Instead, he started forming some kind of barrier in front of the sole door. "Your time would be better spent hunting down terrorists than Overwatch agents."

That was something that Markus could not disagree with. But the road to hell was paved was paved with good intentions. Between Dr Angela "Mercy" Ziegler's Frankenstein-like experiments and Gabriel Reyes' brutal techniques, there was little reason to believe that these people had the necessary qualities to self-control or be autonomous.

Or perhaps he was wrong… "Sir" Reinhardt Wilhelm, Markus' adoptive father and the most honourable man in earth, had been a member of Overwatch for so many years. Markus had tried to contact Reinhardt after rumours of the recall had arisen to beg him not to rejoin but the champion's response was absolute silence. Markus did not look forward to confronting him.

"Order are orders, sir."

Morrison nodded. _That_ was the language both of them knew well. Even before Overwatch headquarters were blown up by the traitor Reyes, Morrison had taken his duty to an extreme and had abandoned any and all that could stall him in fulfilling the expectations of the world. In a way, Markus found it admirable but it was so wrong and inhuman.

"I will feast on your soul!"

Markus cried out in pain when the full brunt of shogun fire hit his chest. It was a powerful blow but the plating of his armour protected him from the majority of the hit. By the time he had brushed aside the pain and stood up, Morrison was already upon the assailant that shot him.

The assailant was dressed in a black trench coat with a cowl and a skeletal mask. A shiver run through him. This was the legendary Reaper, one of the highest ranking members of Talon. At the same time, Talon forces were trying to breach the door.

Markus grabbed his shotgun and fired towards Reaper. _The stories were true…_ this man or creatures or whatever the fuck he was had decomposed into a gaseous purple form for a mere instant, completely avoiding the shotgun fire.

"Ignore Reaper," Morrison shouted. "Get the door."

Although he hated being ordered around by a vigilante, he could not doubt about the sensibility of the plan. Markus took the RDX from the ground and tossed it as the door. He took cover behind the barricade Morrison had constructed.

He drew the Black Widow from his back, aimed at the door, activated the thermal sights, and fired at the door. The deafening sound of the anti-material rifle echoed in the dark basement. He reached for his forearm-attached computer and prepared to press the detonation button on the touch screen.

"Morrison!" Markus yelled. "Duck!"

A moment later, the deafening sound of the explosion ringed in his ear and wave of heat washed over his body. As he disengaged the thermal sight and peered over the obstacle, the target assessment system of his visor highlighted a number of targets through the smoke. Two of them had been split in half by the devastating force of the Black Widow's explosive round. Three had been incapacitated or killed by the explosion. Four were—

Markus ducked aside as he noted a slight shift in the darkness before him. A sniper round rung past his ear. He pulled his SMG, extended the stock, and jumped over the barricade before the Widowmaker could recover from the recoil or her weapon could recharge to full power. The threat assessment system would, for some reason, not highlight the hostile woman. Perhaps her uniform allowed her to mask her thermal or electronic signature.

Although he was still training his left hand, he switched his weapon to the left shoulder to provide himself with an extra semblance of protection as he had the right, mechanical hand forward.

Four quick burst of fire were sufficient to kill the soldiers recovering from the explosions. Then, he charged at the woman standing further back on the stair, aiming her rifle towards him.

As he was shooting her, the Widowmaker took another shot with her rifle that hit him on his right shoulder.

Markus barely felt the hit as he kept firing at the French bitch.

The Widowmaker cried out in pain when his bullets hit their mark. Suddenly, a grappling hook extended from her arm and latched towards the upper floor. As she was pulled upwards, she started firing automatically and left behind some kind of gas grenade.

The biohazard warning lit up on his visor and the air-purification system of his respirator immediately activated. Ignoring the gunfire, Markus advanced and shot towards the woman but she was already gone.

"Fucking hell," Markus snapped as he walked towards the basement again, "everyone has a gimmick these days."

 _Apart from the national or international armies that is_ , he continued in his own thoughts.

"Die, die, die!" Reaper kept shouted towards his rival as he unleashed torrents of shotgun fire.

Morrison was heavily wounded, covered behind a clatter of objects. Markus took aim towards the hideous monster and started firing repeatedly, pausing only to reload his gun.

Like before, Reaper stopped firing and dissolved into purple smoke. During this time, the senior officer of Talon could no longer fire his guns or do anything that required physical contact. This gave Markus the opening he needed to reach for his semi-automatic shotgun, reload the magazine and take aim.

Morrison had the same idea, he stood up casually and took aim. A normal soldier would have surely succumbed to the wounds of the former leader of Overwatch; Morrison only required a couple of moments to recover apparently.

It was equally impressive and terrifying, Markus himself had gone through extensive biocybernetic augmentation but he had not been violated to such an extent. He'd rather die than become a freak of nature.

When Reaper materialised, both humans started firing before the humanoid creature could draw his shotguns and keep firing. Reaper stumbled backwards and fell on the ground, screaming in pain. By the time a normal person was dead, there was nothing left behind other than his bone mask.

Now that the threat was no longer present, Markus felt the exhaustion and pain all over his body. He dropped on one knee, panting. "I don't understand," he said, "I can understand robots… I can understand space monkeys… but a ghost…"

Casually, Morrison walked next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You have much to learn," Morrison said.

"They say he was human once. Is it true?"

Morrison sighed. "I do not know. It could be possible I suppose; I have seen a lot of things in Overwatch's laboratories."

"And then _you_ people wonder why you were disbanded."

Morrison grabbed him from the throat and hoisted him to his feet. "I AM NOT OVER—"

It happened in a mere instant but Markus found himself on the ground, clenching the wound that had pierced his chest. Multiple warning flared on his visor. His vision was blurry while the faint sound of gunfire was evident in the far distance. He tried to inhale but he only ended up chocking blood in his helmet. Markus reached for his helmet and pulled it off immediately. He reached for one of the pouches of his trousers but found it impossible to tear off the Velcro. _Not like this,_ he told himself, _not like this…_

* * *

"Get off my lawn!" Soldier 76 snapped at the Widowmaker.

When the Talon gunship had disappeared in the distance, he found the nearest wall and punched it hard. She had been wounded, barely able to walk when he found her but one look on her pretty face had made him hesitate for a mere moment and that was all the wench needed.

Her name was Amélie Lacroix, the wife of one of Overwatch's operatives. Gérard Lacroix had been Jack Morrison's top operatives that had led the campaign against Talon. Talon had tried hundreds of times to murder Gérard but they always failed… until they kidnapped his wife. They had rescued Amelie but, after two weeks, they found Gerard lying on his bed with his body ripped into a dozen pieces. It was a tragic story that he had failed to put an end to.

 _Ghost!_

Soldier 76 pushed the useless thoughts aside and rushed down to the basement of the building to render any assistance to the fellow soldier. Ghost may have come to interrogate or murder him but he had fought well and they had both saved each others lives.

The poor man was lying on the ground, clenching the bloodied wound on his chest. _Damnit!_ There was no way anyone could survive such a wound. Ghost was struggling to open the Velcro pouch on his left trouser.

Soldier 76 tried to assist him but Ghost struggled, trying to push him away.

"Stop moving!" he ordered and opened the pouch himself. Soldier 76 pulled some kind of pendant from the pouch and was ready to hand it over to Ghost's extended hand when he noticed the golden 76 on the pendant. He froze.

Soldier 76 grabbed the young man from the chest and forced him to look at him. "Where did you get this?"

Ghost chocked on his blood. "My…my m-mother."

The former commander of Overwatch blinked. _Impossible_. _Marcus?_ Without saying a single word, Soldier 76 reached into the jacket and pulled a blue syringe; it was one that significantly lowered the heart rate in order to reduce bleeding.

He pushed it into the armour's small opening on Marcus' left arm that was right on top of his vein and pushed the plunger. Marcus dropped unconscious a moment later. Then, Soldier 76 raised his own sleeve and activated his wearable computer.

"Overwatch, Strike Commander Jack Morrison," the boot up screen read.

Swiftly, he pressed the emergency evac button, added the first entry in his empty log, ripped the computer off his forearm and tossed it next to Marcus' unconscious body. As he walked away, he glanced towards his boy. "I'm sorry... for everything."

* * *

 **A/N:** The only actual "difference" I have made to the known universe is that Mercy is 32 years old at the story instead of 37. I needed to do this in order to have Mercy and the OC to be of similar age without having to make Soldier 76 outrageously old. The romance will be a bit on the slow side.

I am currently searching for Beta reader, if anyone things they might enjoy this story or are interested in assisting me, it would be greatly appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2: Mercy on Call

**Chapter 2: Mercy on Call**

As she swiped through the x-rays displayed on her tablet, Doctor Angela Ziegler could not help but be impressed by the subtlety of the patient's augmentation. Initially, she had assumed that this man was one of the super soldiers that government programs would "volunteer" to go through the latest soldier enhancement program that, among many unethical and barbaric acts, involved the chopping of their limbs and replacing them with cybernetic implants in order to increase their combat effectiveness.

This was not the case with this man. The scars at the points were his limbs connected to his cybernetic arm and his cybernetic leg under the kneecap of his left foot allowed little doubt that this man had suffered some kind of terrible accident. Beyond that, the implants inside his body did not seem to perform extremely sophisticated functions that went beyond vital signs regulation. This was confirmed when she saw a subtle metallic patch under the short dark hair over his right ear. The implant was connected to his brain and, through that, to the rest of the implants in order to control them and his armour's functions. It also allowed his superior to do maintenance without opening the John Doe up.

Angela paused. John Doe was perhaps not the right word. She certainly did not know his true name but she could not help but have a nagging feeling that she knew this man.

Mercy paused when she heard a flashing sound behind her and felt two soft hands covering her eyes.

"Guess who!" a soft, girly voice cooed behind her.

"Not now Lena," she chided and turned towards her friend, "I am quite busy."

Lena Oxton, commonly referred to as Tracer, crossed her arms in protest. "You lie! You've been doing nothing but study this man for days."

"Aber sicher. If our friend joins Overwatch, I will have to do this regardless… on top of psychological evaluations and stress tests."

Lena walked towards the John Doe's bed and smiled. "Hmm, such a pretty face... I can see why you are _friends_ already."

Angela rolled her eyes. If you looked beyond the scars or the haggardly appearance of his face, the man was very handsome. "He's a bit too old for you."

"Too old? He's what, thirtytwo?"

Angela went back to the files on the tablet. "Thirtyfour-point-seven with a zero-point-four percent margin of error."

"Point seven?"

Mercy chuckled. "The capabilities of modern science is truly amazing isn't it?"

"Have you seen this, luv?"

Angela turned towards the patient, concern evident on her fair face. Tracer had raised the blanket on the bed and was looking straight at the John Doe's crotch. The medic frowned. "What do you think you are doing?"

Tracer blinked, disappearing again. A shiver run through Angela when she felt Tracer's behind her, whispering in her ear. "Too old?" Tracer mocked in her best imitation of the medic. "More like: I want that beast for myself, kiddo!"

"Hör auf!" Mercy chided. "I've told you it freaks me out when you do that."

Tracer burst into laughter when a loud gasp was heard for the John Doe's side.

Angela rushed towards the patient's side. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and tried to push his back on his bed. "Take it slow. Don't make quick motions, sir" she advised.

The John Doe did not budge, he narrowed his blue eyes on her. "Where the fuck am I?"

Tracer gasped and not in a bad way. "He is English too!"

Angela gasped too but for a completely different reason. She had most certainly heard that deep, husky voice before. She turned around and filled a plastic cup with cool water before handing it to the patient. "Drink this, very slowly," she said, "I am Dr Angela Ziegler and this is my friend Lena Oxton."

The man chuckled at the utterance of her name. _The UN!_ _That's it!_

The United Nations had invited her—and all other senior officers of Overwatch—to explain the events that led to the explosion of the Overwatch HQ in Switzerland. Lord Gregor Lancaster—Secretary-General Gabrielle Adawe's replacement at the time and, currently, the Supreme Commander of the European Armies—had personally thanked her for accepting their invitation but, instead of the General Assembly, Mercy had found herself alone in a dimly lit room to be questioned by himself and his thugs.

 _Yes,_ she thought, _the patient was one of the thugs._ More specifically, he was the thug sitting in a dark corner of the interrogation chamber, brandishing his kukri knife when Lord Lancaster noticed an inconsistency in her words and threatened her with torture. _Dear Lord, Jack, why would you send him of all people to us?_

"But we prefer Mercy and Tracer, mister!" Tracer cheered, completely missing their discomfort.

"Hush, Tracer," Angela said, "there is no need to confuse our friend with our silly tradition. What about you?"

"Marcus-Jonathan Wilhelm, Lieutenant Colonel, EUA-UK-00321742. The Marcus is with a k."

It was unusual but not unheard of that a man serving in the UK-branch of the European Army would have a Germanic surname, especially one that was often used to honour Reinhardt Wilhelm. What did surprise her, however, was the way he had stressed out that the Markus was spelled in the German way. It was almost as if he hated his English heritage.

"You have nothing to worry about Markus-Jo—"

"Just Markus," he interrupted. "You sound like my father if you use the entire thing."

"You are not our prisoner, Markus."

Tracer walked next to him. "Of course not. We are Overwatch!"

Markus' frown deepened. "As far as I am concerned, you are no better than a terrorist organisation."

Angela blinked. That was certainly not the term news channels had used to describe them when they filmed Winston and Tracer protecting the Doomfist from Talon. "What were you doing with Jack Morrison?"

"Why don't you ask him, _Mercy_?"

Ignoring the mocking use of her fitting callsign, she continued, "The first contact we had with Jack was when he activated the distress beacon on his computer."

As they travelled to Mexico to respond to the distress signal, Angela had been praying that Jack would be alright and come back home but that was not the case. It shamed her greatly but she could not help but feel angry that her childhood hero had broken radio silence for a nobody… a nobody that hated them.

Markus nodded. "I was planning to kindly ask the vigilante for his assistance in dealing with Talon."

"Sounds like you failed," she said.

"Only because Talon interfered," he snapped. "With Morrison's assistance, we fought off against the Widowmaker, that Reaper creature, and their forces."

 _That creature was our friend,_ she thought. Angela closed her eyes and bit back the tears. _I just wanted to save you… wherever you are, please forgive me Reyes._

"That is all I will say," Markus continued. "Torture me if you must."

Tracer gasped. "We don't torture people."

"I don't doubt your conviction for Overwatch but, unlike the common saying, there is no honour among thieves. Bl—"

Without her best friend noticing, Angela placed a gentle hand on Markus and shook her head.

Markus smiled. "Though I suppose I could be wrong but I'm afraid Miss Oxton that I will never trust an organisation that answers to nobody."

That was something Angela would normally have agreed with but her three years in Overwatch had proven to her that a superintendent always delayed them too long to have a decisive impact on the world. Lord Lancaster's threat of torture had proven to her that even the UN could not be trusted. _We are better off on our own._

Tracer smiled. "Well, Miss _Oxton_ will change your mind!"

Angela turned towards her fellow agent. "I need to run some diagnostics on our friend."

Tracer put her hands behind her back and blinked backwards. "OK." Markus flinched at her sudden move. She giggled. He chuckled too, it seemed like a sincere attempt to be pleasant but it came out awkwardly forced.

"Doctor-patient confidentiality, Lena," Angela continued. "It's very rude too."

"Oh! Right!" She laughed with herself for misunderstanding her words. "Bye, bye, loves!"

When Tracer hand blinked away from the room, Angela bit her lip as he turned towards the Englishman. "Thank you for not telling her about Blackwatch."

"Do you remember who I am?"

Mercy closed her eyes and nodded slowly. "You are the man that would have tortured me if I did not cooperate."

"No need to be so dramatic, dear," he replied sarcastically. "You are considered as one of the brightest minds in the world. Unlike the rest of your friends, you can't just vanish out of thin air or have even the slightest hint of torture on that pretty face of yours." Markus laughed, "Wait were actually scared?"

Angela shook her head. "No. But you and your master—"

He laughed again. "Master? Does he tie me up and fuck me up the ass too?"

When she did not respond, Markus brought the water to his lips and sniffed at it. When he was convinced there was nothing suspicious within, he drank it in one quick swig. How they would ever convince this paranoid man to join Overwatch, Angela did not know. Did they even want him to join? As was expected, he choked violently as water entered his parched throat.

"I warned you to drink slowly," she kindly reminded him. "You were unconscious for three weeks."

"Three weeks?"

Angela shrugged. "You were wounded quite badly and the Widowmakers bullets are laced with poison. I had to operate on you for hours."

Markus looked under his blanket and pressed on the bandaged skin close to the wound next to his heart.

"Don't do that!" she cried out and tried to snatch his hands away from the wound. His cybernetic arm did not budge and kept going at it. "You will break the stitches you idiot!"

When he was finished, he turned towards her and smiled. "Relax doc, I was just ensuring that you've not completely fucked me up."

She narrowed her blue eyes on him. "I am Dr Angela Ziegler," she warned, "I am a nobelist in physiology and medicine, and Overwatch's head—"

" _That_ is exactly what I am worried about, Dr Ziegler," he interrupted. "You and your peers think you can play god with other people's lives."

"We help people, dummkopf!"

With a hand trembling heavily, Angela grabbed the cup from his hand, tossed it in the trash, and walked towards one of the cabinets to retrieve some medicine. She placed both hands on the cabinet and tried to calm down her nerves.

 _Is that what people think of me?_ She shook her head. _No_. These were just the words of an ignorant man that was far too fearful of technology which also made him a hypocrite judging by his augmented body. No, no, he wasn't simply augmented with prosthetics or nano-implants, his blood tests indicated that he had without a doubt gone through a soldier enhancement project. Not that it was as sophisticated as Jack's or Gabriel's enhancements but it further added to the irony of his statement.

Angela took a number of pills from the cabinet, placed them in a disposable cup, and walked back to the prisoner. Although his face was still hardened, she sensed a hint of apology on his eyes. "I apologise for my outburst," she said calmly. "These pills will help you recover faster and sleep better."

"Sleep?" He chuckled. "I've been sleeping for three—"

She placed a soft finger on his lips. "Doctors orders."

"Am I supposed to bite this?"

For some reason, she found his sudden shift of mood amusing. She withdrew her finger. "Is that what counts as flirting these days?"

Markus chuckled. "It would have worked with your friend."

 _No, it really wouldn't._ Tracer used her cheerful and flirty attitude to deal with her demons. Angela always went out of her way to be a supportive friend but she would never truly comprehend the torment her friend had gone through.

"Hmm, you will have to work harder than that to woo me. Afraid I'm a hopeless romantic that is waiting for my knight in shining armour."

"Then you are in luck, my Lady" Markus took her hand and kissed her knuckles. "Ser Markus-Jonathan Wilhelm, Knight Grand Cross of the Victorian Order."

Mercy blushed. _Why is he suddenly flirting with me?_ Not that she minded being the subject of an attractive man's attention but his sudden shift in mood made his motivation suspicious. On the plus side, the fact that he was given the greatest honour of the United Kingdom as a spec ops soldier could only mean that he was good at his job... extremely good. That made him an ideal candidate for Overwatch. "Where is your shining armour?"

"Ah, not knightly enough then." Markus cocked an eyebrow and took the cup from her hand. "What about Reinhardt?"

Angela bit her lip, she did not mind the flirting but the conversation was drifting towards uncomfortable territory. "He is sixty-one," she muttered. "A bit too knightly too." She did not dare mention that she used to fantasise about Reinhardt and Jack as she grew up in the orphanage. "Let me get you some water."

Markus shook his head at that and chugged the pills. When he swallowed, he lied down on the bed and closed his blue eyes. "I am too unknightly and my friend is too knightly. Why even bother? Gute nacht, my sweet Lady of Mercy."

Angela blinked when she realised what he said. "Wait! You know Reinhardt?"

Silence was her response. Swiftly, Angela lowered the lights in the infirmary and rushed towards the ops room to find when Reinhardt would return from their mission. Jack might not have simply saved a random soldier that was extremely skilled.

* * *

It was supposed to be an all hands on deck mission but Jack's timing had been unfortunate. Reinhardt, Winston, McCree, Torbjörn, and Mei had been forced to intercept Talon's forces in Numbani while Tracer and Mercy set off to rescue their commander in Mexico. Talon forces had stolen the Doomfist from the Numbani Museum a few hours before the UN forces had transferred the dangerous object to an alternative location. Their plan had been to perform an intelligence gathering mission in the city and intercept Talon forces before they could exfiltrate back to their headquarters—wherever that was. Three weeks had passed since then with barely any contact with their friend beyond a daily status update.

To say that Mercy was extremely worried about her friends would have been the understatement of the century. She was playing with a loose thread of her white robe when she saw a glint in the distance.

Moments later, Angela's heart fluttered when she noticed the Overwatch dropship approaching in the distance. She jumped off the ledge and started walking towards the landing pad, her kitten heels and her caduceus staff clicked on the floor.

When the dropship's ramp lowered, she entered swiftly, ready to render any assistance to her colleagues.

They had failed. Angela sighed. _We should have ignored the distress beacon._ Recovering Doomfist's gauntlet from Talon was far too important. They should have not let emotions rule them... each and everyone of them had instantly wanted to split their forces in the one in a million chance that their former commander would rejoin Overwatch.

McCree tipped his hat in respect and brushed past her to finish his cigar. Torbjörn was busy hammering his turret, how he managed to fix his machinery like that, Angela would never know. Winston was at the cockpit with Mei and Reinhardt—

She had never seen him like this since the Strike Commander died or when Overwatch was disbanded. Reinhardt was sitting on the dropship's floor, his head dipped low in shame, and his hammer unceremoniously discarded to the side.

Angela knelt next to him and looked through his armour, searching for a breach. When she found one, she placed her staff at the opening and activated the healing module. It was an extremely sophisticated device—perhaps her greatest achievement—that allowed her to cure most conventional wounds without direct touch. For more extensive wounds, like the one's Markus suffered, her staff could delay their suffering until they could reach the operating table for proper treatment. If they were at the brink of death, Mercy had a way to bring them back from the brink of death but for a short time until they fell back to the floor and needed further treatment.

"What happened?" she asked in German.

"They had a Bastion-type robot with a minigun… it ripped straight through my shield." Reinhardt sighed. "We were unable to deal with it."

Angela placed a hand on her friend's shoulder. He clearly could not feel her soft touch but she knew he would appreciate the gesture. "We'll find a way to recover the gauntlet, Rein."

Reinhardt grunted. "What of Morrison? Did you find him?"

She shook her head. "He was already gone by the time we arrived." The german champion frowned. "But we did recover an incapacitated soldier," she continued, "Jack left behind a message advising us to recruit the man."

If he was as surprised as her that their commander-turned-vigilante would contact them to nominate a recruit, he did not show it. "What's his combat style?"

"It's odd," she replied. "His armour is quite extensive and he seems to have one of every weapon; a semi-automatic shotgun, a SMG, and very big sniper rifle."

Reinhardt looked towards her, his eyes wide. "Does he also have a skull painted on his helmet and a kukri dagger strapped on his right shoulder?"

Angela nodded. "Skull yes, we did not find a kukri but—"

With one swift motion that was too fast for a man of his size, the Champion jumped to his feet and rushed out of the dropship.

Angela followed him swiftly. "Reinhardt… who is this man?"

"My son."

 _Adopted son_ , she thought. Reinhardt had brown eyes and did not possess the recessive blue gene, that meant that it was impossible for Markus to be his own son. Markus was probably not even adopted when he was a young child judging by his perfect English accent.

In a way, it felt like a stab in the wound that Reinhardt had not shared such an important part of his life with her. It was unfair of course, Angela had probably met the Champion long after he and Markus had gone their separate ways.

"Is he in the brig?"

"No, of course not! I told you, Jack wanted us to recruit him," she said. "He is sleeping at the infirmary recovering from his wound."

Reinhardt stopped abruptly. He run back to the dropship and re-emerged with his mighty hammer.

Now Angela was truly confused. "I thought you said he is your son."

Reinhardt nodded. "Markus-Jonathan is the man tasked with bringing Overwatch to the ground. Suit up, Angela. This is a trap."

That could not be the case. Not only had they found Jack's computer that could only be activated by him, they had found disposed mags that matched Jack's pulse rifle and Overwatch-labelled medical gear that was recently stolen from a raid that was credited to Soldier 76. Mercy looked at her tablet. The camera revealed that Markus was sleeping soundly on his bed and his vitals were very stable. _Perhaps you don't know him that well Rein._

* * *

 **A/N:** Just realised I forgot to show Soldier 76's biotic field ability. I apologise to anyone that speaks German for my google-translate worthy German phrases.


	3. Chapter 3: Traitor and Terrorist

**Chapter 3: Traitor and Terrorist**

Markus was instantly alert when he opened his eyes. Instead of Dr Ziegler's infirmary, he found himself in neat quarters. Unlike his own bunk back in the SAS headquarters, the equivalent Overwatch "bunk" was a relatively spacious room for a single soldier with all the amenities one needed—they even had a bathroom!

Abruptly, Markus steeled his face. It was a trick. A cruel psychological trick to force him to lower his guard. Plus, he had invited this by providing Dr Ziegler and her friend Lena Oxton—or Tracer as she prefered—with a particularly weak lie in regards to his motives towards Soldier 76. And if they were stupid enough to believe him, which seemed impossible given that Ziegler was a downright scientific prodigy with a nobel prize before even graduating from ETH Zurich, Reinhardt knew the truth.

The truth was that Markus had every intention to see Morrison brought to justice or dead, hopefully without having to pull the trigger himself. Over the years of killing enemies of the EU, Markis had been shocked with how easy and thoughtless taking the lives of other (always traitors or terrorists, of course) had become. He had not expected it but this lack of conviction to finish his recurring dream himself was comforting.

As he stood up, he spotted a pile of cloths with a small post-it note on them. He took the note and chuckled. Apart from a hastily written note at the bottom, the entire letter was written by a skilled calligraphist.

 _I hope you slept well. I apologise for the obnoxious clothes but they are the only ones that match your size._

 _The team is looking forward to meeting you._

— _Angela_

 _PS: the Cavalry is here_

Markus laughed. This woman, Dr Ziegler, either had too much time in her hand to achieve such a neat and clean writing style or she was outright cheating in some way. If it was the former, he could only imagine the tongue lashing her friend must have received for ruining her piece of art (on a yellow postit note of all places).

Then he saw the cowboy-like clothes that had been prepared for him and frowned. The sight was unnerving. Ignoring the fact that he would look like complete moron with a cape, leather pants, spurred boots, and a belt with BAMF (which Markus was, of course) written on the buckle, what truly disturbed him was the owner of the clothes.

Jesse McCree had been murdered by him a few months ago. It had been a brutal fight that almost taken his life but Markus had prevailed. Wearing a dead man's clothes was disturbing to say the least.

But he did wear them after showering. Even though as his doctor she must have seen everything, a momentary discomfort was better than having to present himself to the Watchmen in a patient's robe with everything in open display.

Markus took a deep breath when he stepped outside, the intoxicating smell of fresh bread was absolutely divine.

Instead of a the military-style mess hall, Overwatch had decided to adopt an open floor style that combined the living room and the kitchen of a rich person's home. Where it not for the fact that he was in an underground complex, Markus would have assumed he was locked in an expensive hotel rather than an Overwatch facility.

On a large table, six members of Overwatch were eating food together. While all of his companions kept chewing at their food, Reinhardt Wilhelm stood up as good manners demanded and motioned towards one of the two empty seats of the table; the one placed opposite to him rather than the one next to him.

 _An interrogation then,_ Markus thought. _Good, it's about time they stopped pretending._

When he noticed a tall fella chewing on his straw and a leg with a spurred boot thrown over the table, Markus gulped. "I thought I killed you," he said.

McCree chuckled and raised his left hand, revealing a cybernetic hand. "The clothes don't sit well on you."

"I'm new to the cosplay scene."

Surprised, Tracer spurted her coffee and spilled it over herself as she chuckled.

"Cosplay? What in god's name are you talking about?" Torbjörn asked.

"Costume Roleplay. When little kids dress us up as specific characters. Like a gunslinger pretending to be a cowboy, a german war hero clad in a righteous knight's armour, or a medic dressed up as an angel."

The effect of his words had an instantaneous effect. While most found his point amusing, Reinhardt and McCree took the insult personally.

"Markus-Jonathan," Reinhardt warned, "don't make this harder than it already is. Sit down."

Markus had no choice but to obey. As he was taking a seat between Torbjörn and Mei-Ling, he moved his chair closer to the dwarf. Not that he was particularly scared of the chubby girl but he had heard disturbing rumours about her.

"How many Overwatch agent's have you killed?" the gorilla asked.

"Evidently none."

McCree chuckled. "I can spot a lie—"

"He isn't lying," Reinhardt interrupted sharply, making it clear that nobody will question him on this topic, "Markus never lies to me."

"How touching… and yet the other members of Overwatch vanished after the recall was issued."

"You asked how many I killed," Markus interjected, "not how many I silenced. And before you ask; the answer is Liao, Mirembe, and Kimiko."

"Silence," a voice from the other side of the room asked. "What does that pertain?"

The heavy swiss-german voice belonged to Angela Ziegler. She was wearing an apron over her clothes and held a cooking tray with eight plait-shaped bread. During his station in Greece, he had eaten a similarly looking bread which was very soft and sweet but he doubted this was the same.

Before Reinhardt could beat him to it, Markus stood up swiftly and assisted the young woman with the tray. Why did she look so young? She was supposed to be thirty-two years old but she looked in her mid-twenties at most… too young to be natural.

"Careful not to get burnt" Ziegler told him. Markus placed his cybernetic arm on the steel of the tray and grinned at her. "Oh," she muttered, embarrassed. "Danke."

As the medic placed the breads on everyone's plates, most of them started eating like starved animals with little decorum for politeness. Judging by their expressions, the bread tasted as good as it smelled.

As Tracer cut a small chunk of bread tried to biteit, Reinhardt placed his meaty hand on her. "Wait for them to sit down," he told her. The girl pouted her lips. The interaction reminded him of the days that he and Reinhardt had been almost inseparable.

It was only after they split up that Markus had truly come to appreciate and understand the extent to which Reinhardt had sacrificed his own life for another man's child. _You were right, Sir, I should never have joined the army._

As he took the tray to leave it at the kitchen, Ziegler approached him. "Are you alright?"

"My wounds are fully recovered, Doctor."

"That's not what I meant," she took a bottle of milk from the fridge and filled an empty glass. "You just seemed… lost."

"I don't know what you are talking about."

Ziegler's smiled saddened. "I do not know what happened between you but there is no shame in missing him."

Markus narrowed his eyes on her and walked closer to her, threateningly close. Her perfume was lovely, some kind of exotic flora that he could not recognise. "Get out of my mind, Dr Ziegler."

"Das tut mir Leid," she whispered softly. Why she apologised or randomly spoke in German, Markus could not tell. Not that he minded, her accent was pleasingly sultry when she spoke in a foreign language. "Come, they are waiting for us."

Markus returned to his seat while Ziegler sat between Reinhardt and Tracer.

Ziegler turned towards Tracer and looked at her friend's bread. The way it was cut gave off the impression that it had been eaten. "You didn't like it?"

The doctor's words were quite critical, clearly she took great pride in her cooking.

Tracer shrugged and pointed to the giant of a man. "He didn't let me eat."

Mercy brought her hand in front of her mouth and stifled a laughter. "You cruel man..."

"The bread tastes amazing, Mercy" Tracer said when she took a bite.

"Zopf," Ziegler corrected, her voice was just a bit too critical "it's a traditional swiss bread."

"You should cook more often!"

"Dear Lord, I hope not... I have way too much work to cook for you."

"We all do," Torbjörn interjected.

"You, Winston, and I. The rest of them are slacking off." Ziegler said the last bit with a grin on her pretty face, clearly intending it as a joke even though it was most likely the truth.

"Awww, someone's jelly," Tracer laughed. "You look droll when you are angry."

"And what do you cook Miss Oxton?" Markus knew he had her now. British people always got teased for their non-existent "special" food. It was ridiculous of course. They were an Empire once, they didn't need their own food. They imported the best food in the world and ate it.

Tracer blushed. "What would you cook?"

"For breakfast? Easy. Eggs, tea, fried toast, sausage, and bacon… preferably served in bed."

Tracer's blush further deepened at his final words.

Ziegler raised an eyebrow. "That hardly promotes cultural exchange."

Markus spared a glance towards her companions. They were uncivilized savages all of them. McCree was true to his roleplay and chewed with his mouth open. Torbjörn was slurping his food while Mei-Ling was polite but distant. Surprisingly, Winston was quite civilized; he ate in large chunks but maintained sufficient eye-contact to be polite. Tracer seemed excited to eat her food quickly but Reinhardt's gaze kept her in check.

 _Such culture._

As for Reinhardt and Mercy, they were the definition of decorum. They placed their napkin to their feet and took their forks and knives as was appropriate. They ate slowly and in small, controlled portions while making light conversation with each other between their bites. Their only mistake was the fact that they were speaking in German to each other, a habit that was extremely rude. Doubly so given the topic of their discussion..

Markus cleared his throat, gaining their attention. "It's not polite to talk about someone that is present on the table."

"Rein was telling me that you don't speak German," Ziegler said.

 _Rein?_ Reinhardt absolutely hated that nickname and yet this woman called him that freely. Interesting, very interesting. "British superiority."

"Really? You can only speak English?"

Markus shook his head. "French, Russian, and some Latin."

"Latin?"

"Mostly cheesy expressions."

Ziegler was about to grab the last piece of a tiny-looking croissant when Tracer practically snatched in from her hand and giggled. "Like?" Tracer asked as she chewed on the croissant.

"Ad curram et communico," he said, "to care is to share."

Awkwardly, Tracer went to offer the rest of the croissant to her companion.

"Too late now, eat your croissant—"

"Gipfeli!" Ziegler snapped.

Markus rolled his eyes. Were the Swiss really that stubborn to use the appropriate name? It was amusing to say the least. "Aha. That explains the tiny size."

"The size is perfectly fine."

"I disagree," Reinhardt corrected, "the bigger the better—"

"Bigger? **Bigger**?" Torbjörn yelled out of nowhere. "I've told you again and again, the size of the hammer doesn't matter!"

"We are talking about gipfeli size," Ziegler replied.

"What the hell is a gifeli?" Torbjörn said as he was finishing his cr-gipfeli.

"Gipfeli. The thing you are eating."

"The croissant?"

"Gipfeli!"

The dwarf brought both his hands to his face for a double facepalm that put all the facepalm memes to shame. He sighed. "Word of advise laddie," he told Markus, "stay away from them swiss beauties. Them and omnics… fuck omnics."

Markus could not agree more. It was a terrible affair but omnics needed to be dealt with swiftly. In England, there were current plans to detonate an EMP device in the middle of King's Row in order to wipe out the omnic population there. Markus would have led the operation but it seemed unlikely now.

But he did not say anything. Judging by some of the expressions on the table—especially from Tracer and Ziegler—they clearly did not agree with the Master Engineer. According to her file, Lena "Tracer" Oxton was a big supporter of Tekhartha Mondatta and had tried to rescue the omnic leader from the elusive Widowmaker. As for Ziegler, she was a self proclaimed pacifist that clearly extended her "good" nature to lifeless robots. It was amusing then, it was amusing now; a pacifist that works for Overwatch and curses free men to a life as a military robot.

Markus chuckled. "What's your problem with them Swiss beauties, Master Torbjörn?"

"The woman is a real pain in the ass. Bah!" Then he spoke in a mocking voice imitating his colleague. "Omniks hafe rights, Torbjörn; Torbjörn, please don't veaponise my research; Torbjörn, schtop schtarink at das pretty, round titties; Torbjörn, please kall zee kroissants gifi."

"Gipfeli!" Mercy corrected laughingly. "That is preposterous! I don't talk like that!"

Torbjörn pointed to the younger woman with both hands. "You see my point?"

While Torbjörn could easily say these words, Markus agreeing could be seen as an insult and that was not his intention. Not that the Master Engineer was wrong. Omnics had no rights—though they should never have been given consciousness; a scientist should not be naive enough to think that their technology would not be weaponised; they were too fine titties not to spare a glance at or any other part of her incredible body; and there was no need to complain about some weird name convention when gipfeli was clearly a subtype of croissant.

Markus took a deep breath, changing the subject was a better idea. "Reinhardt, why am I here."

Reinhardt glanced at Markus' plate and gave him a sharp look. "Eat your food first."

"As lovely as your friend's cooking might be, I'm afraid I have to refuse."

Reinhardt steeled his face and dumped his napkin on his place. He stood up. "Let's go."

Winston placed a hand on the champion. "This conversation concerns all of us."

"Very well," the champion sighed and sat down. "What did you do to the rest of the members of Overwatch?"

"I convinced them to retire."

"You mean threatened their families," Ziegler said as she finished drinking her milk.

"Absolutely. They were smart enough to neither call my bluff nor—"

"I knew it," McCree said, slapping his hand on the desk. "I was certain you didn't have the guts to do it."

"Nor draw their gun," Markus continued, completely unfazed by the interruption. "Trust me, all three of them are very happy with their lives. I simply forced them to do their duty to their families instead of playing Overwatch. Since McCree has no family, I gave him the option to remove his name from the Black Book and to gamble his fortune or join my task force."

Most on the table breathed in a sigh of relief. "Gott sei Dank," Ziegler whispered softly.

"Did Morrison have the same treatment?"

Markus shook his head. "Morrison is a dead man. I had nothing to offer to Soldier: 76. The plan was to either bring him to justice or kill him after learning about the location of this base."

Tracer looked away, her eyes extremely sad. "The EU planned to kill us?"

 _She thinks she is a hero._ "Regardless of your intention—which I'm sure are noble—we cannot allow a group of individuals to run unsanctioned operations. If you release me, I can arrange for a meeting Lord L—"

"You will not speak that name in my presence!"

The entire table looked shocked at the Champion, completely surprised that he would lose his cool like that. Reinhardt had clearly not told him the story.

"Then there is nothing I can do to help." Markus stood up, pivoted around and placed his hands behind his back to be handcuffed. "Don't make this harder than it already is. Do what needs to be done."

"We are not going to kill you, torture you, or lock you up. We wish you to join Overwatch."

Markus turned towards his adoptive father, raised an eyebrow, and then tossed his head back for a quick laugh. "And that Lady's and Gentlemen is the famous German wit." Reinhardt did not even flinch. "Wait! You are actually serious…" _These people are mad…_ "Ignoring my personal reasons, I can think of at least three reasons why that would be a terrible idea."

"Then I have you beaten. But please, state them."

"I would be a deserter, a traitor, and a terrorist with a single decision."

"We will fake your death," Tracer cheered, as if she found the ingenious solution to all their problems.

"I would still be all the above; they just would not know it. I'll be in my quarters till you make your decision."

Preposterous. _How dare he!_ Markus thought as he walked away. He was a knight and a highly decorated lieutenant colonel, to ask him of this was the gravest of insults. Plus, his application to join Overwatch had been denied in the past even though Reinhardt had given him a reference… he was not going to accept an invitation out of pity or despair.

"I call in my favour."

Markus whirled around and started panting. "Noooo..." he whispered, "I beg of you, Sir, don't."

Ziegler, Tracer, and Winston looked towards him in complete shock. Torbjörn and Mei were observing him with a hint of interest but they were not overly concerned. This was not something any of them expected. Not that they did not plan to conscript him but they clearly were not expecting five words to summon terror on his face. McCree was grinning, seeing this as payback for depriving him of his arm.

"Reinhardt!" Ziegler called out, "you can't just force him to—"

"I call in my favour," Reinhardt repeated, his voice devoid of any emotion. "We need you help to save the world."

"Shut up." Markus closed his eyes and steadied his breath. "Markus Wilhelm… traitor. Very well. Does this facility have a fighting ring."

"Are you sure?"

"Absofuckinglutely."

Reinhardt stood up and walked out of the room. Markus followed after him. It was time to teach this old fool a lesson in humility.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for the review Finny94, much appreciated.

I already regret including Mei in the Overwatch team, should have let her freeze to death in Watchpoint: Antartica. I hate Mei. Although Winston is technically the leader of Overwatch, I have adopted a more loose leadership style considering Reinhardt, Torbjörn, and Mercy were previously his superiors due to their seniority/position. I was tempted to show a bit of german accent (e.g. th into z or s) in the dialogue but it could get very distracting since Mercy is the main character (even worse if it is done incorrectly); I'll leave the accent to your own imagination with a few german words thrown in once in a while.

The rest of the chapters should be much easier to follow (I hope) since they should have less characters per scene.


	4. Chapter 4: A Trip to the Armoury

**Chapter 4: A Trip to the Armoury**

"Verdammte Scheiße!" Angela Ziegler yelled in frustration as she tried to repair her Valkyrie swift-response suit.

After making sure than all visible signs of an intrusion on the electronics system was visible, Mercy started screwing the suit's back plate. It was all pointless of course since Torbjörn would notice it instantly but it was worth trying to deceive him. The last thing she wanted or needed was to be lectured, especially now that she was tired from waking so early to prepare breakfast.

Lena's suggestion to make breakfast to each other instead of everyone having to wake up early to make their own food had once seemed sensible on paper but it was not. Angela and Torbjörn had enough workload to not sleep for months while the rest of them (with the potential exception of Winston) had pretty much nothing important to do other than stay in good shape. Torbjörn had been smart enough to skip the obligation but such wisdom was beyond Angela's years.

"Athena," Mercy said, "connect me to Master Engineer Torbjörn please."

"Right away," Gibraltar's AI computer responded immediately. After a few moments, the response came back, "Connection established."

"What is it?" Torbjörn growled through the speaker.

"My swift-response has—"

"Did you try to fix?"

"No, of course not," she lied, trying to sound shocked at the mere suggestion, "I think the wings need to be recalibr—"

"Leave the engineering to the engineer. Bring me my suit, woman!"

Before she could complain at calling _her_ suit, his suit, the connection had been severed by the Master Engineer. She would never have managed to build it without his contribution but it was mostly her own design.

* * *

The sound of gunfire ringed in her ears as she stepped into the armoury. Torbjörn was busy hammering at a new set of armour, the armour was similar to the basic Overwatch armour but very heavily armoured. At the firing range section, Markus Wilhelm was lying on the ground firing at extreme distances with his sniper rifle. Although it was not visible with the naked eye or even a scope, the Englishman was technically firing at four dozen meter's distance with Torbjörn ingenious design simulating the multiple miles that Markus was firing at.

Swiftly, Mercy walked towards a nearby cabinet and grabbed a pair of safety glasses and electronic muffs.

"Heard that ye brits are planning a big operation in King's Row," Torbjörn's said.

"I haven't heard anything specific but it wouldn't surprise me, the Omnics are really taking the piss," Markus replied. "Why you asking?"

"Merely glad that someone other than the Russians have their heads straight. Omnic rights… what a joke."

Angela's lips twitched in annoyance. A man's stance towards Omnics was always a good indication of character. If they were hostile or distrustful towards Omnics, they were either bigots that were blinded by their hatred or people that needed someone to help them understand that humanity was the cause of their pain, not the robots themselves.

Unfortunately, Torbjörn was firmly set in the first category. As the daughter of his employer, she knew his story quite well and sympathised with him but, sadly, his story was a lesson that engineering ambition needed to be limited rather than a reason to distrust the peaceful shambali-aligned Omnics.

"Ha! I'm afraid Master Torbjörn that we can't use that lovely Russian subtlety whilst dealing with those filth."

The hateful words pained her but they did not surprise Angela. When the topic had come up during breakfast, Markus had carefully deflected his conversation with Torbjörn away from the subject but a twitch on his lips had told her everything. Now that he was unaware of her presence, his prejudice showed.

And that thought reminded her to make her presence known. "My apologies for the interruption gentlemen," she said and placed Valkyrie on an empty worktable.

Markus stopped aiming down the sights for a moment, glanced towards her and nodded in respect. "Dr Ziegler."

"Laddie, you really need to drop the formalities if you want us to take you seriously. There's little point in pretending that we are more than a mere ramshackle."

"As you wish, Torbjörn."

Torbjörn walked next to her grabbed the suit. "I'll get right to it, buttercup. Now go play around while I get to work."

Angela frowned at her pet name but kept her mouth shut and took a seat on one of the benches. Unfortunately, there was no playing to be done in the armoury other than watching Torbjörn hammering stuff with his hammer or observing the Englishman. The display next to Markus showed that the scenario was an Omnic convoy at five kilometres.

As Markus struck at each and every target even after the initial hit, his talent somewhat reminded her of Ana Amari. But that was back in Ana's prime and before Torbjörn had provided her with the biotic rifle that could not operate at so extreme distances.

The comparison to the legendary sniper threatened to bring a tear to her weary face. Ana's death had been the catalyst to the ruin that followed. Jack blamed himself for her death; Reyes used this as an opportunity to further consolidate his power while openly challenging their Commander; Fareeha Amari—Ana's daughter and Angela's lover at the time—had asked for space; Angela had locked herself in her laboratory with only her kitten for company while begging for a response from her the woman she loved; Reinhardt had managed to maintain his stoic and inspiring personality but everyone knew that he was suffering the most.

 _And you weren't there for him,_ her guilt reminded her.

"So what's stopping you," Torbjörn asked abruptly.

"King's Row is in northern London with the entrance to an entire underground city of Omnics. The bastards have even established checkpoints at the edges of the district. Forcing our way through would be a human bloodbath while their Omnic masters disappear in the catacombs of the underground complex."

Angela gulped. That was certainly not the peaceful situation Lena had described when she visited King's Row to save Tekhartha Mondatta.

"What you need is to fry 'em with an EMP."

Markus hummed in satisfaction. "What's your problem with them anyway?"

"I used to work for the Ironclad Guild—the designers of the Omnic." Torbjörn hammered Rein's armour harder and harder as he kept speaking. "I warned them again and again that sentient robotic intelligence would lead to the end of the world but they mocked me as paranoid the fuckers."

When Markus stood up and turned around, Mercy winced at the sight. She had expected Rein to defeat him (or any other man) in their brawl but this was outright humiliating. The entire left part of his face was purple from bruising and one eye was bleeding from the rough hits. It was nothing serious but he should be, at the very least, holding an icepack on his face rather than toying with guns.

"We need to go to the infirmary right now."

Markus chuckled. "After we are done fixing my girl," he said. His 'girl' being a fifty inch rifle that seemed to be designed to punch through Rein's armour with a single shot.

Angela placed her hand on his, stopping him from disassembling his rifle. "That girl can wait. This one cannot."

Markus raised an eyebrow. "When you put it that way, how can a man refuse such a request. Just let me finish packing my things, alright?"

"Two minutes, no more."

"Deal."

As she watched him deftly disassembling his rifle and storing it in its case, Torbjörn came next to her quickly. "You are really starting to annoy me lass."

Angela rolled her eyes. "What did _I_ do this time?"

"What did I tell you about touching the wiring?"

"Not to get caught trying to fix my armour again."

"No," he snapped, "I said don't freaking touch 'em."

Angela shook one finger. "No, Mr Engineer, you said: don't get caught with your beard in the letter box which is apparently a very bad translation for the Swedish version of don't get caught red handed."

"Fine!" Torbjӧrn snapped. "Let me rephrase: if you get caught with your beard in the letterbox again, this armoury is closed for Mercy."

Angela bit her nail suggestively. "What of Sigrún?"

Her Swedish companion blushed deeply at the comment, remembering his embarrassment when she had first worn the costume for the first time. Markus looked between them in confusion.

"Ah… I—"

Angela stood up quickly and blew a quick kiss on Torbjӧrn's reddened cheek. "Thank you," she said before she narrowed her eyes on the other man in the armoury. "Are you coming?"

"Thank you for your assistance, Sir." Markus grabbed her Valkyrie suit and followed her.

* * *

Traditionally, Swiss people were considered quite reserved and private people. Even when Angela Ziegler used to lock herself in the seclusion of her laboratory, she always had Grace—her silver tabby—to keep her company.

Being in the company of another man, even one that looked down on them, in complete silence was disturbing. As they entered the infirmary, her patience had finally run out.

"Sigrún is a Valkyrie in Norse mythology," she explained, "I made the mistake of dressing up as her during Halloween and now he keeps teasing me about her."

Angela motioned for him to take a seat on the patient's chair while she placed the Valkyrie swift-response suit in its display chamber carefully.

"Forgive me for asking but what's the purpose of the halo or the drapes?"

"It was my ex-girlfriend's idea—" Angela paused when she saw the incredulous grin on his lips. She rolled her eyes. "I will never understand why you men get excited at the mere idea of two women being together."

"Two beautiful women to be precise. Now, I do not know about your friend but I know you are ten times more beautiful than the women all men that have not seen you fantasise about," Markus replied.

She blushed. Mercy knew that she was quite beautiful but not to such an over-exaggerated extent. "She is much prettier than me."

"Then I truly pity your friend," he replied.

Angela blinked in surprise. "What?"

"If you are an Angel, she must be a goddess. I doubt any man would have the guts to approach and flirt with your ex."

 _That_ was not a lie. The few men that dared approach them were extremely awkward in their flirting. Angela always tried be friendly with them but Fareeha would get easily bored, she'd forcefully grab her from the face and give them the show of their lives before sending them away.

"Anyway," he continued, "The answer to your question is threesome with said two beautiful women."

"But that's stupid, I would never share my lover—male or female—with another."

Markus cocked his smile. "I never claimed to be a smart man."

Angela sighed. "It sounded silly at the time but the angelic appearance turned out to be quite inspiring in the battlefield. Eventually, I upgraded it to emit a biotic shield to protect from headshots. Enough about me, what are you going to dress up in Halloween?"

"Nothing."

Angela walked to the medical cabinet and collected the necessary tools to heal the bruising and his eye. "You don't like Halloween I take it?"

"Bad childhood experience I'm afraid."

Angela took a seat next to him and placed the medical items on a steel table. "Es tut mir leid."

"Reinhardt had plans to take me to Overwatch's Halloween celebration but we weren't allowed to attend for some reason. Damn shame, Fareeha and I had put so much effort in our costumes."

"You know Fareeha?"

Markus blinked. "Obviously. Our parents were f—"

Mercy gasped while he winced at his mistake. "Oh shit… You did not hear that from me."

Pissed off, she stood up and walked away to calm herself down. That explained so many things. The out-of-character flirting and the constant blushes had an explanation now.

The knowledge hurt her so much... She could understand why Rein would keep Markus a secret from almost everyone (apart from Ana and Jack) and she could also understand why their relationship could not be shared with the entirety of Overwatch due to fraternisation rules but why would he hide it from her of all people?

Angela sighed as she realised something. Rein was the only person that knew that she and Fereeha were in a relationship. With this latest information, it was not particularly hard to conclude that he had tattled about the relationship to Ana and had—by extension—contributed to the ruin of her relationship long before Fareeha even asked for space to deal with her disapproving mother's death.

Angela wiped away the tears furiously before turning around. Reinhardt—not Rein anymore—would never hear about this but their friendship was over. Calmly, she straightened her ashen hair and returned next to Markus.

She placed a medicinal glove on her right hand and squeezed the tube to release some gel on her hand. "This is going to hurt a little."

As she was running her hand over the rough horizontal scar that extended from below his right eye to his chin, Angela considered offering to repair the damaged skin but decided against it. Markus would have perceived it as an insult to his appearance. Plus, she considered, it actually looked quite good with his well-defined features and the stubble beard.

"Don't take Reinhardt's rejection personally, I'm sure there is a proper explanation."

"Don't… please. Tell me about your relationship with Fareeha."

Markus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "When one of our parents were away—which was all the time for Lady Ana and most of the time for Reinhardt—Fareeha and I would end up spending time with each other. We used to be inseparable until I fucked up our friendship. Our parents never knew about it but we used to sneak into her mother's armoury and test all of the weapons. I played with the sniper rifle while Fareeha just loved blowing shit up with the rocket launcher."

Mercy gasped. "That is so dangerous!"

Markus laughed. "But so much fun!"

The bruises had long since disappeared from his handsome face but, unconsciously, she continued spreading the gel. Angela was happy. It was good to hear that at least some of her ex's childhood was filled with joy. But it was not the entire truth. Fareeha had never mentioned Markus and had always implied that her childhood was shit. "What happened between the two of you?"

"I had a crush on her since the very beginning. She didn't."

Angela looked downwards, considering to tell him for a moment that Fareeha dated women exclusively, but Markus' lips curled into a crooked grin. "She didn't seem to appreciate the wincest comment either."

She burst into laughter. "Oh dear… sorry." When Mercy finally managed to control herself, she continued, panting: "sorry, that was very rude."

Luckily, Markus was not offended. If anything, he seemed glad that someone had appreciated his wincest joke. "Unfortunately, she skipped the laughter and went straight for the punch. Does that woman have a mean right hook... but it was for the best, our dependability on each other was very unhealthy and kept us both from bettering ourselves. We might not be the heroes we strived to become but... we've done well."

She forced his eye open and dropped three drops of her biotic solution in his eye. The drops were not as miraculous as the gel but it was still good enough to remove most of the redness from the eye. "Perfekt. Good as new!"

Markus reached for the gel tube and grinned. "Ziegler Solutions…," he read, "I've never seen this before."

Angela clenched her teeth in annoyance. Not towards him of course but because of the explanation to that statement. "I tried to make all the Ziegler Solutions commercially available but all pharmaceutical companies were planning to overprice it and rip off the poor. It's a corrupt system that I did not wish to support."

Markus nodded his approval.

"It is one of the two reasons I joined Overwatch actually."

"Oh?"

Now she hesitated. The man was pleasing, and respectable but Angela did not truly know him. In fact, him being a black ops soldier made opening her heart to him terrifying. _No,_ she chided herself, _he will not betray us._ Given that he was forced to join Overwatch, if Markus was sincere, she would never forgive herself for not treating him as an equal.

"My apologies for ask—"

"I used to hate the mere idea of visiting a military facility, let alone joining a military organisation, but the Strike Commander made a convincing case when he broke into my apartment."

Markus raised an eyebrow at that but Angela ignored him. Telling him about walking out of the bathroom, naked and wet, to come face to face with her childhood hero and the subject of her wildest fantasies would be quite… awkward.

"Overwatch would allow me to further my research and save countless of lives—many more than I could in Universitätsspital Zürich—while promising to never militarise my research."

 _A promise he did not keep multiple times,_ she reminded herself but did not dare voice it.

Markus smirked for some odd reason. "And the other reason?"

Mercy removed her gloves and tossed them in the bin. "When I was in the orphanage—"

His face straightened. "Your file did not state that you lived in an orphanage."

That comment surprised her. There was absolutely no conceivable way that Lord Lancaster did not have access to the unmodified files. That could only mean that Markus was not as close to the unscrupulous Lord as they had assumed and was just a mere pawn. That gave her hope for Markus and for his loyalty to Overwatch.

Or he was a master of reverse psychology. _Well,_ she told herself, _if that is the case, it is a_ _well deserved victory._

Angela shook her head. "I asked from Jack to redact that part of my file. People always judge me in terms of my past rather than my achievements. Odd as it might seem, I found it preferable to be judged for being the daughter of a War Criminal that started the Omnic Crisis rather than being pitied for growing in an orphanage."

"Dr Ziegler," Markus said, his smile gentle, completely devoid of his characteristic grin, "You are the most brilliant mind of our century—perhaps even the millennium—you saved countless of people with your contribution to science and your personal intervention in the battlefield… nobody has the right to judge you or blame you for events that happened when you were five years old."

Angela looked away. Markus spoke the complete truth but, however much she hated her arents (or her father to be precise), the connection to her family would always linger in her mind. Unlike the rest of her family—including her only sister— that had promptly changed their names after her father was publicly executed and her mother suicided out of her innocent guilt, she considered it her duty as a Ziegler to fix the damage her family caused. "Enough about me, what about you?"

Markus grinned. "Why did I join Overwatch?"

"No. Why did you join the army?"

Abruptly, Markus stood up quickly and headed for the exit. "A story for another time, Dr Ziegler. Thank you for your assistance."

Now that was rude. Mercy frowned. "I answered your questions," she said before he could leave, "it is only fair that you share—" Realising her mistake, Angela stopped speaking on her own but the damage had already been done.

Markus pivoted around. "I've shared enough!" he snapped at her then, as sudden as his anger appeared, looked towards her in utter shock. "I beg for your forgiveness."

Angela shook her head, she grabbed an icepack and approached him. "I-It was my fault."

"Don't be ridiculous, there's nothing wrong with asking questions. I had no right to snap at you."

Angela raised a hand. "No, please. I sometimes tend to forget that people prefer to keep their past to themselves." She placed the icepack on his hands. "It's not needed but if you feel any kind of pain, use it. Keep it on for no more than ten minutes and with twenty minute breaks before reapplying it. I know my food was not particularly popular but I kept some food for you in the kitchen to keep you full till dinner time."

Markus nodded his thanks and went to walk out but she stopped him again.

"Wait! I know that we are not friends b-but if you want to talk to someone about your past… I-I'm here for you."

That amused him for some reason. So much in fact that she assumed bitter sarcasm would be coming her way. "I tend to have a habit of driving my shrinks crazy."

Mercy chuckled. "I think I can handle you, Markus Wilhelm."

"An interesting choice of words, _buttercup_." Before an appropriate response could even register in her mind, Markus took her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed her knuckles softly. "The pleasure is always mine, Angela." He turned around and walked away.

That man was so infuriating! One moment he would act offended while the next he would flirt with her or call her "Angela" with the most sensual British accent she had ever heard in her life. But worse of all, he would leave her flustered with a smirk on his handsome face without giving her the option of responding in any way.

Angela sighed. "Oh dear, what have I gotten myself into?"

* * *

 **A/N:** I couldn't write a Mercy story without some Pharah love. I hope all the Pharmercy lovers (everyone I hope?!) are not too disappointed with Reinhardt and Ana. Next chapter will be mostly plot-based.

I had initially intended to have Mercy as a woman that lost her unimportant or rich parents in the Omnic Crisis but I came up with the idea of giving her father a more crucial role in the conflict to motivate her to strive for a better world. As for the Ana/Reinhardt, I took the idea from their in-game complimenting of each other.

Big thanks to all the reviewers again for their feedback again.


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